Much as Keenan’s Summer Girls did if they left Keenan.
Sex ought not result in the destruction of free will. Not for him. Not for the humans he’d touched. Not for the Summer Girls. Faeries were dangerous to mortals. That was a truth that was impossible to ignore.
Still, Niall watched them as he walked through the city of New Orleans. He followed the mass of bodies and watched for the formerly-mortal Rika. Other faeries saw him and fled from his presence. Like him, they were invisible to mortals. From the look of the majority of the fey things he saw, the Dark Court was still settled in New Orleans.
Memories of Irial weren’t things Niall allowed himself to recall. He shoved those away and concentrated on finding Rika—and then seeking out lodgings for the Summer Court.
When Niall caught up with Rika, she sat, perched like a strange beautiful statue atop a grave in one of the city’s famous above-ground tombs. Rika wore a costume more suited to a farmer than a lady. On ship, her glamour was that of a proper lady: dress suited to the era, hair that spoke of elegance and class, and ladylike hand-tooled leather boots.
In reality, Rika wore trousers, men’s boots, and the hair she still had was shorn not much longer than a sheep’s wool. She was mannish in all but her delicate features and birdsong voice. Those were unchangeable, but she’d removed every possible trait that Keenan had once praised.
That was something Niall understood. He’d done much the same when he’d left the Dark Court.
Rika kicked her feet in the air, staring at humans in the graveyard. “Sometimes I think it’s better this way.”
“What?”
“Being hidden,” she said softly.
Niall stared at her, trying to think of something kind to say. He settled on saying, “I think you are more suited to this than you would be to joining the Summer Girls.”
Rika quirked her lips in a seemingly genuine smile. “True.” After another longer than normal pause, she added, “I ought not like you, Niall.”
“I like you,” he told her easily. “You risked your humanity and happiness to try to free the Summer Court.”
“And lost. Don’t forget that part.” Rika hopped down from the grave.
Her diminutive frame evoked an urge to protect her. She had lost her mortality, and she’d lost Keenan—whom she thought she’d loved—because of the curse. She was brave in a way that most people couldn’t fathom.
“I’ll stop her.” Rika traced her fingertips over the face of a mausoleum, leaving frost flowers in her path. “I swore to devote myself to convincing the mortals he woes to refuse him, and I’ll do everything in my power to succeed--just as I did when trying to become the Summer Queen.”
“I know.”
They stood awkwardly silent again. He wanted to comfort her, to take her into his arms and offer her the only comfort he could. It wasn’t truly selfless. He was addictive to mortals--and Rika was no longer mortal.
“Do you have lodgings? Need funds?” he asked gently.
Rika turned and walked away.
And Niall was left with the unenviable task of deciding if he ought to greet the other regent in the city or delay that inevitable conflict.
Tam
Tam was up early the next day. She was alive, her eyes still present, and those two truths strengthened her. Tam had spoken to the fey and survived the day. Today, God willing, would be another.
She’d focus on her art, and she’d carry on. There was nothing else to do. To do that, she needed to go to the bayou. Better now when Irial was pretending to be mortal and seeking her in the city.
Well, she’d simply be where he was not.
As Tam left the city with its wrought-iron draped buildings, there were faeries aplenty. Most of them were the kind that seemed to keep to themselves, solitary creatures that looked like a piece of nature given the gift of movement. One seemed to be an animated tree, bark-like skin and mossy hair. Another seemed to be part-animal, cloven hooves and furred flanks.
Others were the sort she’d read about in Keightley’s book. It had only published in London a handful of years ago, but she had dipped into her meager savings to acquire a copy in hopes of discovering truths. Keightley had collected tales a plenty—and some had a fair measure of truth—but he hadn’t Seen them. That was clear.
To cast nature into metal for her work, Tam would brave these faeries as she had done since she began creating jewelry. The risk was worth the end. That was the way of art. She suspected the same was true of love. When something, art or lover, fills a heart to bursting, any risk was worthwhile.
Either way, she set off toward the bayou.
“Ah Maid Mary, where have you gone? The sea’s gone rough, and the men come home,” she sang as she walked.
Two fey creatures began to dance, and Tam hid her smile. In this, at least, she found an odd joy. Fey things loved music and arts, and she couldn’t fault that.
“Dear sister, Mary said, the waves came calling, but where could you be? I borrowed a ride into the sea,” she continued to sing. “And so I did dance until the dawn, with a fine fellow by the name of John.”
Thelma watched the creatures that lingered in field and swamp. She knew they could be horrid, harassing woman and man, adult and child. But a fair number simply existed, living their lives in tandem with a world that would not notice or pay them much mind.
In truth, that was how she’d often felt.
“Maid Mary, m’ gal, I’m coming for you,” Tam sang, giving a little twirl as she did. The air, the joy, the song made a body want to dance.
If there were money in songs, Tam might try her luck at it, but for now, Tam made do with hiding from faeries, creating her jewelry, and working other jobs when she had to, so she could—one day, God willing—have a wee house of her own. She’d like a small tree in the front, maybe a willow, or oak, or ash. Perhaps, a small library of her own inside.
She stopped wool gathering and began humming to herself as she paused at the edge of the bayou, pulling her skirts higher than she would in city streets.
Nature had its rhythms and its rules. Fey things were a part of that nature. They perched in trees like cantankerous birds. They lazed in the sun. They squabbled in the frost that seemed to linger longer and longer each year. She could ignore all of it.
But then a voice rang out. “Maid Mary, m’gal, I’ll capture the sea, and the wave, and the sky. Whatever else I do, I’ll be marrying you.”
Irial.
Here.
Tam told herself it was nothing to worry herself over. He was singing a match to her song, no more, no less. He certainly wasn’t singing to her. He wasn’t even visible this time.
And he definitely wasn’t thinking of marrying her.
But all manner of creatures looked at him as if he was the last drink before all the water turned brine. Irial ignored them. Instead he stared at her with shadows slithering along his skin.
Tam dropped her gaze and steadied her hands before anyone could see the trembling that threatened to overpower her.
“Pretty thing,” one of the thorn-covered faeries said.
“Meh. Mortals,” another said. She had feathers where hair ought to be and eyes as dark as pitch.
“Wee creature,” another whispered, its fingers twining in Tam’s drab brown curls.